Bruce smacks his ass twice in rapid succession, hard enough to really hurt and shove him forward. He keeps his other hand at his shoulder, preventing him from wobbling or collapsing. Grabs one asscheek and digs his nails in, holding him there, other hand circling the base of his neck. Caged in.
"No."
You're too wound up but not on edge, he might say, if Constantine hadn't rejected safewords wholesale. Do you want to get off right away and keep going? Will it help settle you?
But that isn't what happened, and so, it isn't what's happening.
Instead, Bruce hits him a few more times, lower on his thighs to spread out the bite and burn of impact, skating his touch up to the core of him and stroking roughly over the soft skin behind the root of his cock. But no further. Keeping him pinned heavily all the while - until he shifts up, leans over him to snag his opposite arm. The binding isn't finished, and he gets to work straightening his shoulders again and strapping his arms behind his back. He doesn't linger overmuch, but there's still a determined care to how he moves him; inescapable, laser-like attention. He runs his fingers hard and punishing over a meridian line from collarbone to wrist: lung lines. John won't notice. It won't help.
He finishes with the other man's forearms tucked parallel together and snug against John's body, one hand against each of his own elbows. Bruce grabs the rest of what he'd dragged up from the drawer, and tosses a ball gag towards the end of the bed like a threat. For now, it's merely left there.
Bruce moves. Fully behind him, erection brushing against his abused ass, like maybe he is actually going to fuck him, despite that No. But then he's getting a grip in the fulcrum of the custom harness and up the other man goes, back against Bruce's chest.
no subject
"No."
You're too wound up but not on edge, he might say, if Constantine hadn't rejected safewords wholesale. Do you want to get off right away and keep going? Will it help settle you?
But that isn't what happened, and so, it isn't what's happening.
Instead, Bruce hits him a few more times, lower on his thighs to spread out the bite and burn of impact, skating his touch up to the core of him and stroking roughly over the soft skin behind the root of his cock. But no further. Keeping him pinned heavily all the while - until he shifts up, leans over him to snag his opposite arm. The binding isn't finished, and he gets to work straightening his shoulders again and strapping his arms behind his back. He doesn't linger overmuch, but there's still a determined care to how he moves him; inescapable, laser-like attention. He runs his fingers hard and punishing over a meridian line from collarbone to wrist: lung lines. John won't notice. It won't help.
He finishes with the other man's forearms tucked parallel together and snug against John's body, one hand against each of his own elbows. Bruce grabs the rest of what he'd dragged up from the drawer, and tosses a ball gag towards the end of the bed like a threat. For now, it's merely left there.
Bruce moves. Fully behind him, erection brushing against his abused ass, like maybe he is actually going to fuck him, despite that No. But then he's getting a grip in the fulcrum of the custom harness and up the other man goes, back against Bruce's chest.